


Coffee Grounds

by nwspaprtaxis



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Community: SPNTwistedTropes, Dark, Dark Jared Padalecki, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Violence, Twisted Tropes Round One: Dark Roast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: The only light comes from the bright daytime outside the windows but the sun never reaches this far in, not with the skyscrapers that surround the building on all sides and the sharp overhang of the floor jutting out above the window. No one walks past; not in the middle of the afternoon like this. Even if anyone did; they wouldn’t be able to see through the tinted glass.





	Coffee Grounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlindSwandive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/gifts).



> **A/N:** Originally intended for the 2019 inaugural round **[Twisted Tropes](https://twisted-tropes.livejournal.com/)** , DARK ROAST: Subverting the Coffee Shop Trope, for this [prompt](https://twisted-tropes.livejournal.com/614.html?thread=1382#t1382) by [**BlindSwandive**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive) which went thusly: _REQUEST: I'll start us off... How about some sexual harassment in the workplace? Would love some dark, gritty dubcon; bonus if the harassed barista is still in their coffee-ground-smeared apron when they're bent over the nearest surface._
> 
> Also inspired by [**BlindSwandive**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive)'s comment in 1st Draft Saloon Discord: _Okay, I don't even tend to pursue RPF but I just thought of y'all mentioning Jared's reluctantly shared joke that got him in trouble (pickup line: "Does this smell like chloroform to you?") and… I… now I want a dark!Jared fic with him actually using that line/move. I don't even care on whom. Is… I mean, does this exist somewhere that anyone knows of?_
> 
> Thanks to me, it does now, BSD!
> 
> A million thanks to [**Alyndra**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyndra) for beta’ing this mess and handholding me via Discord chat through the spit-and-polish.

The door shuts behind him, the latch catching with a soft click. Then the lights go off. 

Jensen’s breath catches somewhere in his chest as he goes terrified-bunny-rabbit stiff. There’s wolf-breathing behind him and he forces himself to exhale slowly, to keep the rag moving in circles on the countertop, as Jared presses up behind him. The rag moves of its own accord.

The only light comes from the bright daytime outside the windows but the sun never reaches this far in, not with the skyscrapers that surround the building on all sides and the sharp overhang of the floor jutting out above the window. No one walks past; not in the middle of the afternoon like this. Even if anyone did; they wouldn’t be able to see through the tinted glass.

He watches his hand swipe the rag in circles and arcs through the damp. Fighting won't help — Jared's proven over and over again that he's stronger than Jensen, and he likes it when Jensen makes him get rough. Neither will reporting — there is no one to report _to_ ; Jared’s the owner and manager. Besides, he needs the cash and he knows that he won’t get paid half as well anywhere else with the same flexibility of hours.

Jensen feels the warmth emanating from the looming figure behind him. Large hands close around his shoulders and Jensen feels so very, very small despite his six feet of height. He bends slowly forward, the chest of his green canvas apron pressing against the counter. He chokes on the burnt smell of the coffee grinds embedded in the rag still clenched in his hand. Jared stays pressed against his back, hands sliding along his arms.

“Does this smell like chloroform to you?” Jared whispers. Dangerous. Jensen cringes, holds his breath even though he knows that there’s no way that Jared could’ve actually chloroformed the rag; not when he was the one to soak it in water and ammonia. 

Jared arranges Jensen’s hands so they are parallel to his head. The rag is inches from his nose and Jared’s breath is hot and alcohol-thick at the shell of his ear. There’s the wet as the tip of a tongue slides along the outer edge to the apex. 

Jensen’s stomach clenches, pleasure-revulsion aching low within him.

He widens his stance.

The percolator gurgles.

Jared slides his hands along Jensen’s arms, the heat of flesh-on-flesh contrasting with the air-conditioning, making him shiver and goosebumps pimple his skin. The contact zings along neural pathways from flesh to brain, down spine to cock. Jared’s hands are against his sides, the soft rasp of palms on his pique-knit polo shirt, and settles on his khaki-clad hips. Jensen feels his cock harden, stiffen and press against his pants leg, and whimpers. 

“Shhh,” Jared hisses as though trying to soothe.

Jensen doesn’t say anything and goes very, very still, as Jared presses wet lips to the side of his jaw, peppering his neck as he kisses his way to his collarbone. The time for _please, don’t_ and _no_ had blazed past weeks ago. There’s a hard suckle and Jensen can’t stop his whine as he arches his back toward Jared’s chest, bending his neck to give Jared more access. The suction releases and Jensen can still feel the hot pressure of blood pooling under the skin, and knows that he’s got a mark. 

The burnt smell of coffee grounds embedded in the rag, in his green apron, in the percolator spitting out its contents in runny blasts, clog his nostrils as he pants for air, breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell, keeping himself still as he feels Jared unbuckle the leather belt, pull down chinos, boxers. The air is cold as it wraps around his thighs, his cock bobbing up towards his belly, now that it’s free. It gets trapped against the lip of the countertop, the underside of his apron chafing the sensitive tip. He sprawls flatter, hands clenching into fists and then relaxing. 

Jensen breathes, focuses his gaze at the bit of sky above the brick façade of the building across the alleyway. It is a deep, bright spring blue. 

Jared’s fingertips flex against the juts of his hips, spots of contact that seem to scorch. 

Without preparation, Jared thrusts into him, once, twice, thrice. The world explodes in a bright burst of pain that Jensen doesn’t voice, biting hard on the rag in his hand.

It tastes of ammonia and coffee grounds. 

And then there’s a warm spill of slick inside him, streaking his thighs.

Jensen shudders, his jaw aching as he forces it to go slack. He coughs, spits, as his body sags with release. He can feel his apron is wet where it’s pressed against his front. He hopes it’s all cleaner and not precome. He doesn’t want Jared to have that satisfaction. 

“Here you go.” Jared’s voice is too low and soft, as he sets several bills next to Jensen’s head. “Clean that up,” he adds, as Jensen slowly straightens. 

Jensen hears the door unlock, sees the lights flood on, as he stands unsteadily. After a beat, he pulls up his boxers, pants, wincing at the graze of fabrics on wet, sensitive flesh. He picks up the twenties Jared left him — there are five. He folds the stack in half, pockets it into his apron, and smiles at the first customer who enters.

He’s sure he reeks of coffee grounds.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments stress me out, but I adore kudos!


End file.
